


You Came Along to Give it Meaning

by doctoraicha



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:18:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctoraicha/pseuds/doctoraicha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Pendragon is a 30-something Professor at the fictional University of Caledonia at Edinburgh. Merlin isn't, until he is. They clash over academic matters. There's loads of pining and misunderstanding. Gwen is Arthur's best mate and she manages a theatre in the Grassmarket. Lance is Merlin's best mate and he's an actor from London. Heavily M/A with a side of G/L. Academic AU wherein they are NOT STUDENTS, and NOT LITERATURE TEACHERS, because I'm not and you should write what you know. Right? RIGHT.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I don't even know him

Arthur sat back in his seat as the panel chair opened the floor to questions. "Let's collect a few comments and then have a response from our paper presenters," Dr. Smythwicke was saying.

Professor Arthur Edward Paul Pendragon, Ph.D., Earl of Cardigan, Albion Chair of European Politics and Government at the University of Caledonia Edinburgh, Director of the University’s EU Centre of Excellence, was well satisfied with his presentation, and hoped for at least a few productive comments. He didn't expect much; this small conference at the LSE in London was really just an excuse to visit his home town, have lunch with his Gran in Wilsthire and see his Father, the 8th Marquess of Ailesbury, at the family house in London.

The first two comments were for other people on the panel. By the time the third commenter had stood to speak, Arthur had stopped paying attention. "This question is for Professor Pendragon," a man with jug-handle ears whose name Arthur had missed was saying. Arthur's attention snapped back to the proceedings at hand. "I wonder whether you've given any consideration to the currency crisis of the early 1900s. There’s certainly a parallel with the current problem," the man said, and began to sketch a quick outline of that crisis. "And that's why I think your orthogonal framework is problematic in how it addresses the issue of ordoliberalism in the German economic school."

Arthur was somewhat stunned. Most people didn't tend to challenge him, much less call him _wrong_ in _public._ He sat there for a view minutes while the others responded to their comments, and tried to formulate a response that went a bit beyond "don't you know who I am?".

"I think that particular crisis fails as a parallel to the current crisis," he found himself saying. He stumbled his way through some refutation of facts, and wound up in saying something he knew made it sound like a total dismissal of the idea. The only real issue was that he knew he was going to have to rework his _entire theory_ of the crisis. Hell and damnation.

He managed to avoid the man, who seemed to want to continue the conversation once the panel broke up. He spoke instead with an old friend, Owain McMann, from his doctoral days at Berkeley, and then begged off on the excuse of meeting his sister, the Lady Morgana, for dinner across town. He did give a curt nod of thanks to the jug-earred man, who looked somewhat taken aback at his brusque manner.

He spent dinner with Morgana complaining about Jug-Ears to her. Mirth twinkled there, in her dark eyes, and Arthur finally asked her what she thought was so damned funny. "You are, Wart," she laughed. "You never did like to be wrong. Comes from being so damned smart. This man has certainly set you on edge. What did he look like, apart from the ears? Let me guess. Tall, dark haired, and well dressed?"

Arthur grumped. "Yes, but his looks have nothing to do with it. Just because a man has blue eyes and dark hair doesn't mean-"

"Blue eyes, too!" she interjected, laughing.

"-doesn't mean I want to shag him," Arthur finished.

"But you do," she returned.

"I don't," he protested.

She smiled. "You do, but I'll drop it for now," she conceded.

They finished their dinner in companionable conversation - Arthur really did love his sister, whatever her faults - and when they parted he extracted a promise from her to visit him in Edinburgh.

***

“Pendragon,” Arthur said, answering his office phone with his customary brevity.

“Arthur, it’s Charlie,” a voice said. It’s Charles Posonby-Morgan, the Dean of Social Sciences, and Arthur immediately knew that he was about to be asked to do something time consuming that he definitely wasn’t going to want to do.

He was right. “We’re hiring in European History, and we want someone with a specialty in economic history. We’ve plenty of historians on the committee already but we need someone with some expertise in economics. You know no one over there has a specialty in that area.”

Arthur mentally sighed before he answered – he already knew what his answer had to be. “Charlie, you know I’m busy with the book right now, but I know we need an economic historian after Gerry Presser left at the end of last year. So, the answer to the question you didn’t actually ask is yes.”

Charlie laughed, a great boisterous laugh that belied his position as Dean in one of the most prestigious universities in the country. “I knew I could count on you, Arthur,” he said. “I owe you a wee dram of Mccallum next time we’re in the Whisky Society together.”

“More like a bottle of Glenfarclas – the 25 year this time, Charlie, you cheap bastard,” Arthur replied before he rang off, Charlie’s answering laugh echoing in his ear.

***

Arthur groaned and settled his forehead against the smooth metal top of Gwen Pritchard’s desk at the theatre off the Grassmarket where she was managing director – and, well, CFO, director, and chief costume designer, among others. Gwen patted his hand. She’d known him all his life, having been at school with Morgana and, although she was two years his senior and not an academic, she’d become his best friend whilst he was working his way up the academic ladder. That he was in Edinburgh at all was down to her – she’d called him at the University in Atlanta where he’d been teaching and virtually forced him to apply when the vacancy has been advertised.

“You know how busy I am just now, reworking the Euro book,” he complained. “And now Charlie wants me to work on some damned committee to hire a historian, of all bloody things.”

Gwen patted the back of his head, and he raised it. “I know, Arthur, but surely it won’t be all that bad.

Arthur groaned and swiped a hand across his face. “It’s not the worst assignment, but I’m already doing a ton of administration running the EU Centre, and for fuck’s sake, I have a bloody book to write. I don’t want to interview snot-nosed lecturers fresh off their post-docs.”  
Gwen grinned. “Wart, you’re just precious,” she said. “You know it won’t be a problem. You’ll have a meeting to draft an advertisement--”

“That’s already done, while I was visiting in London,” he broke in. “I haven’t actually seen it, so maybe we’re advertising for a Reader or Professor, not a lecturer.”

“Well, then, you’ll wait for applications to come in, and then you’ll pick out a dozen to phone interview, and you’ll bring in two or three good ones and make an offer and it’s all done. Couple of hours and a couple of days to interview.”

Gwen had clearly been paying attention to his moanings on the subject of hiring committees in the past. Arthur gave her a wry smile. “You’re right, of course,” he said in his poshest Oxbridge accent, “but for God’s sake let me at least have one large wine down the Last Drop before you start trying to be rational about it.”

He stood, gesturing to the door. “Come on, I’m buying,” he added, ushering her out of her office, out through the back doors of the Grassmarket Theatre, and across the road to the pub.

***

Glyndwr University in Wrexham was a nice place, but rather small, and Dr. Merlin Emrys, Senior Lecturer in European Economic History, was a rising star in a very small pond, to mix metaphors. A graduate of the LSE, protégé of several rather important economic historians, fluent in seven languages including Welsh, German, French and Latin (blame his Uncle Gaius’s insistence on a public school education) –  his superiors at Glyndwr knew they’d only managed to land him because his mum had been rather ill when he was finishing his doctorate and he’d wanted to be in Wales, close to her.

Sadly, she had died during Merlin’s fourth year; now in his tenth, he was feeling rather desperate to get out of Wrexham. He felt as if he knew every single one of the 60000-odd residents of the greater urban area. Most of his mates were living in London. Life was passing him by.

He had taken to reading the _Chronicle of Higher Education_ , an American publication that published academic vacancies, as well as the more usual _Times Higher Ed_. He sort of idly thought he might like to live in the States for a bit; as he hadn’t so much as a pet turtle to tie him to Britain he thought perhaps he would heed his mentor’s advice and apply to some jobs someplace a bit warmer.

He read the vacancies pages regularly, though he didn’t often apply; only the right sort of job at the right sort of place would be worth uprooting what was, after all, a rather comfortable life. And should he take a job that wasn’t just right, and the right one opened a year later, then he wouldn’t be able to move because then everyone would think he was some kind of dilettante. _Damn academia for being so complicated_.

Over coffee one morning an advertisement in the _T.H.E._ caught his eye. The University of Caledonia at Edinburgh was hiring an economic historian and everything about the vacancy was perfect. He even liked Edinburgh, especially the funky Old Town. He got caught up imagining a quirky flat somewhere near the Castle, or even the Grassmarket. He shook his head and smiled; he had a job application to write. Picking up his mobile, he phoned his old dissertation supervisor, a venerable old crank of a man Merlin rather loved. He was a little terrifying, but well known and almost legendary in his reach across the discipline and his uncanny knowledge of nearly every facet of economic history, at least in Europe.

“Dr. Kilgarrah? It’s Emrys. I need a letter of support.”

He paused whilst Kilgarrah harrumphed that he knew all about the Edinburgh job.

Merlin laughed, shaking his head although Kilgarrah couldn’t see him. “You knew I’d apply. It’s the perfect job.”

“I always know, young Emrys,” the old man grumbled. “It is your destiny, after all. I suppose when you wouldn’t go to America, it had to come to you.”

***

“He – or she, I guess, who knows with a name like Merlin – is the perfect candidate,” Arthur said, dropping the manila folder onto the desk of the Head of History, Elena Godwyn. “I don’t know why we’re even interviewing anyone else.”

The woman laughed. “You know as well as I do that we have to send more than one name up to Charlie. We’ll have to bring in at least two candidates for in house interviews.”

Arthur grimaced. “Yes, I know, but no one else is even close to qualified. I mean, there’s Cenred something or other, and someone called John Valliant, and even a Sophia… Sophia…” he waved his hand; names didn’t matter. If this Merlin was even half the lecturer and scholar he appeared on paper, there was no question that he was the best applicant.

Phone interviews with a dozen of the applicants were duly scheduled by Elena, with members of the hiring committee coming in and out of the conference call meeting room as their lecturing schedules permitted. Arthur did his duty – after all, he was very good at duty – but in his mind he’d already chosen his top candidates for campus interviews. When it came to a vote, most of the others agreed. Emrys, Sophia Siddon, and Cedric Sigan were to be on campus for interviews in February.

February came in with a brutal cold that blanketed nearly all of the UK in snow. Grey skies prevailed, and the winds in Edinburgh were so strong that people gripped the lamp posts to keep from being blown over.

The Emrys interview was last; Arthur endured meetings and dinners with prospective candidates that were good in their own way. Sophia tried to use her father’s connection to Arthur’s to influence him – though the Marquess was less than impressed and told Arthur as much – and Cenred had actually tried to seduce Arthur, which was frankly more distasteful than Sophia’s attempts at manipulating their social ties.

On the day Emrys was due to arrive in Edinburgh, however, Arthur’s gran was taken ill in Wiltshire. With no thought to anything but getting to her side, he left Edinburgh before he even got to meet the candidate.

***

Merlin made the journey to Edinburgh via train from Crewe. The trip took about 5 hours all told. He had spent the time reading something he’d picked up, a book on the EMU by Arthur Pendragon.  He found the piece a fascinating read. Though he was a historian by trade the Euro was an intriguing bit of economic experimentation. Lord Cardigan – though of course it was only a courtesy title – clearly didn’t use his connection to the Marquess who owned half of Wiltshire to get his position. Of course, his behaviour at the meetings at LSE didn’t do much to endear him to Merlin, but then he had put the man on the spot. His only excuse was that he’d been a bit overexcited by the possibilities that Pendragon’s theories presented.

Merlin was very disappointed that he didn’t get to meet Arthur during his interviews. His presentation on the development of the German economic school was, he would admit only to himself, aimed at Arthur. But then, Merlin felt, maybe he’d get the job.

***

Five days later, Arthur returned to his office. Thankfully, one of the Centre’s junior appointees, Leon Ferguson, had attended the candidate’s talk on his behalf; Leon was full of praise for the presentation. Others seemed as impressed; everyone who had interviewed all three candidates universally placed Emrys at the top of the list. Given his personal experience with the two others, Emrys, sight-unseen, was the only candidate on Arthur’s list.


	2. Jumping to Conclusions

Arthur put down the phone late one afternoon in April.  His father always called for his advice whenever anything on Europe came up. He’d been talking to his father and several other members regarding a bill before the House of Lords, and he had a seminar to run in – he checked his watch – 18 minutes. He looked at the messages piled in the tray. He hadn’t even had time to check them before his conference call.

“Freya!” he called to his assistant. “Which of these are the most critical, and which can wait?” he asked, as she came into the room.

She sorted them efficiently. “This one first, it’s from the Dean,” she said. “Then this one is from your grandmother, she says you’re not answering your mobile and please call her tonight, and these two are from your contacts in Brussels but it’s just gone five there so call them first in the morning. All the rest can wait.”

He smiled. “Thanks, I appreciate it.” He picked up his desk extension and dialed the Dean’s number as she left the room. “See you tomorrow,” he added.

Charlie’s voice came down the line after only two rings. “Arthur! Thanks for getting back to me. We’ve hired that bloke Emrys, and you’ll want to appoint him to the Centre.”

“So you’ve got his signed contract already?” Arthur asked.  
“Of course! He sent it back straight away. He’s a good hire for us.. He’ll start in September.”

“Sounds good. I’ll invite him round to dinner with the others” – Europeanists, he meant “-sometime in September.”

“He’ll be up in June to look for a flat, he says,” Charlie told him. “Maybe you could meet him then, since you missed him before.”

“Good idea. I’ll email him,” Arthur agreed, winding up his call. He set a reminder to call his gran and grabbed his bag, heading toward the seminar room on the floor below.

***

Arthur checked his watch. He hated being kept waiting, but Emrys was only running a few minutes behind. He took another look around the hotel lobby and sat on a stool at the table in the middle. The receptionist’s desk was surrounded by an odd art installation that looked like a load of old keys – he idly wondered whether the keys were functional, and dismissed the idea as unlikely. They probably had the modern key swipe cards like everywhere else. He noted the “don’t forget your packed lunch!” sign, and refused to allow himself to ask the girl behind the desk whether they really packed a lunch.

Though Gwen’s theatre wasn’t far, and the Last Drop was just down the street, Arthur had never had any occasion to visit the Grassmarket Hotel. The Balmoral or the George were a more to his father’s or Morgana’s taste, and the University usually went a bit more corporate and a bit less quirky when they housed job candidates. He supposed that Emrys’s choice signaled his interest in living in the immediate area. Although Arthur had purchased a mews house in New Town, it was more because he didn’t want to live next door to his students than that he didn’t like Old Town.

“Professor Pendragon?” a voice broke over him from behind, and Arthur swiveled toward the sound. He was shocked into speechlessness at the dark-haired vision. A broad mouth smiled even more broadly, chiseled cheekbones framed blue eyes and dark, damp hair topped the whole.

Not to mention the ears.

It was _Jug Ears._

“Hell and damnation,” Arthur said, the startled exclamation torn from him. He recovered, blushing slightly. “You can’t be Dr. Emrys?”

“The one and only, far as I know.” Emrys answered. “I heard your talk at the UKEA meeting last year,” he added.

“I remember,” Arthur said. “You called my theory wrong and I’ve been reworking the whole book ever since, thanks,” he added wryly.

Merlin looked surprised, and Arthur had to grin. He had been a total prat at the meetings. “Shall we go for a pint, then? Call me Arthur.”

***

Arthur left Merlin at the door of his hotel much, much later. He had really enjoyed himself, though they’d kept it strictly on a professional level. He called Gwen whilst waiting for a taxi at the rank across the road.

“Remember the bloke from the conference?”

“Which one?”

“The one who’s made me rework my book?”

“Oh, yes. The one who called you wrong. You hate being wrong-footed in public. But, wait, you’ve been meeting with the new Professor. You’re not saying he’s the one you hired?”

“Got it in one. He’s really intelligent, Gwen. He’s going to be a great asset to the University, and the Centre.”

“Only an asset?”

He could almost hear her smile down the line. “He’s… he’s just lovely,” he finally said. “I don’t know if he’s gay, though, or seeing someone or anything. We had two pints, no, three, and talked about Edinburgh and the two flats he saw today, and the Centre and the University and everything.” He finally stopped when Gwen started to laugh.

“Oh, Arthur, you’re _smitten_ ,” she said.

“I’m not a _girl_ , Gwen,” he groused.

“You kind of are, though. It’s cute!”

“Like I said, I don’t know if he’s even interested in men, or me, or if he has one of those no-dating-colleagues rules, or anything.

“Just keep an open mind,” she said. “Don’t jump to conclusion with this one,” she added.

“I’ll wait for a definitive evidence,” he promised.

“When is he moving up?” she asked, changing the topic.

“End of next month or early August, he’s not sure. Depends on when he can get a lease started. He saw a place today he likes. Two bedrooms, over near the Dragonfly,” he said, naming a cocktail bar a couple of streets over from the Grassmarket Theatre.

***

Merlin was set to move into his place on the 30th of July, he’d told Arthur via email a couple of weeks later.

It was _pure coincidence_ that Arthur found himself waiting for Gwen at a table near the windows of the Dragonfly at about 6pm on the evening of Merlin’s arrival. At least, that’s what he told himself. She wouldn’t even be able to get away from the theatre until half past at best, and it would likely be well after 7. Arthur nursed his Glanfarclas, trying not to appear that he was watching out the window. He didn’t want to be obvious, and the place was already filling up. He’d poached a table for four in a prime spot, so he went to the bar and asked for the menu.

“We can have Mamma’s deliver a pizza, but we don’t do food in house,” the obviously Australian barman said.

“That’s fine,” he said. “Do you do any wine?”

“Bring you a list, if you like, though it’s short.”

“Never mind. How about a dry vodka martini?” he asked, naming something his Father liked. He normally stuck to a pint or a whisky. He’d never been much for cocktails, frilly and fruity or otherwise, and he wasn’t interested in the lagers on tap.

He looked back out of the window. With a catch in his breath, he saw Merlin, directing two blokes in removal company uniforms. He was indicating a window across the street, two houses up, on the first floor over a hat shop.

He saw the men give each other a look, clearly relieved that there wouldn’t be too many stairs, and open the back of the removals van. After a short conversation, Merlin appeared to decide to stay next to the van so it wouldn’t need to be relocked each time, while the removals company men carried box after box into the flat’s entrance.

Arthur was trying to work out how to casually get Merlin’s attention when he saw a stunning dark-haired man clap Merlin on the shoulder. The bloke looked Spanish, or maybe South American. He was standing very close to Merlin, and they embraced in the street for just a moment longer than Arthur thought was strictly necessary. Arthur felt his heart drop and a rise to his cheeks. The removals men came back for more boxes while Merlin and Hot Spaniard- or French, maybe?- chatted on the street, and Merlin took the opportunity to take Hot Spaniard inside.

It was well after seven and well after the first couple of drinks. The van  had already pulled away, having disgorged all 25 or 30 of Merlin’s boxes and three or four small bits of furniture (quite a lot of things, Arthur would have thought if he weren’t busy brooding, considering there was almost no furniture), when Gwen finally arrived.

“Did you eat? Only I wouldn’t blame you if you had, since it’s gone half seven. I love this place,” she said. Gwen occasionally liked to visit the Dragonfly, usually with her girlfriends to drink frilly pink cocktails and talk about guys. Arthur usually gave it a pass in favour of the dimly lit Last Drop pub.

Arthur said no, not meeting her eyes; Gwen pursed her lips.

“What’s happened?”

“Saw… him.”

“But that’s good, right?”

“Saw someone else with him.  
Gwen looked sympathetic. “Girlfriend?”

“Worse. Really, really fit boyfriend.”

“That explains the empties. How many martinis have you got through?” she asked.

“Three or four,” he answered. “And a whisky.”

“We need to get some food in you, then.” She ordered two of Mamma’s pizzas from the barman, and reached out to take his hand.

***

Merlin smiled in satisfaction at the office space he’d created in the flat’s small second bedroom. Outfitted with a new futon bed, for those visits from his friends from London (mostly Lance, who had been Merlin’s best mate since their school days), it also boasted a new desk. Books were arranged in neat rows on the freshly installed floor-to-ceiling shelves on one wall. He was very glad he’d arranged for all the furniture to be delivered via the estate agent the previous week. It made putting all his belongings away that much easier.

Some of the books fell over just as his mobile rang. Merlin’s eyes glowed gold for a moment; the books righted themselves. “Hello,” he said, answering the call.

“Ah, young Emrys. I see you have found your place,” Kilgarrah rasped.

“Professor, you’ve always been a prescient old bastard,” Merlin said.

Kilgarrah laughed, the sound rusty. “I waited a good many years for a student like you, Emrys. It’s my job to make sure you turn out alright.”

“I’ve been done with my Ph.D. for 10 years.”

“Ah, but you’ve only just started on the path to greatness,” Kilgarrah said.

“I know you didn’t want me to take the Glendwr job, but…”

“You had to do it, so that your destiny would be fulfilled.”

It was the most positive thing Professor Kilgarrah had ever said about his job in Wrexham.

“Your destiny was in America at the time. That’s why I wanted you to go there. But now, it is in Edinburgh,” Kilgarrah said cryptically. Merlin was inclined to think his old professor had finally gone round the twist.

“Well, alright. It is looking like this could be a really long term place for me. I like it here. There’s a good vibe, the University is top-notch, and there’s….” he broke off, unwilling to mention his love life to his mentor.

He should’ve known the old man already knew. “A young man? Or the possibility of one,” he said, sounding oddly self-satisfied. “All is well, then, Merlin. I’ll speak to you soon.”

He rang off, and Merlin was left holding the phone confusedly. Kilgarrah _never_ used his first name.

***

Arthur was in a black mood when he met Gwen at the door of the theatre. Since it was still the summer holidays, he was wearing jeans and a soft, fitted white t-shirt. She put a hand on his arm.

“You’re looking quite nice,” she said, putting a hand on his arm and smiling up at him.

“Fat lot of good it will do me,” he grimaced. “Where are all the good single men? I don’t want much. Smart, sexy, tall, dark hair, understands economics and likes to cook. Someone I could talk to and--" he trailed off, hands jammed in his pockets. _If only Merlin weren’t taken_ , he thought.

She laughed. “Not much at all. Only everything, and likes you, too,” she said. “If I knew a bit more about economics and you weren’t petrified of my vagina I’d take you on.”

He laughed, mood forgotten for the moment. He slipped an arm around her back. “You’re a good friend, Gwen,” he said. “But I’m not scared of your lady bits. I’m scared of _all_ the lady bits.”

Both laughing, they slipped in the door of the Last Drop.

***

Merlin was sitting down to dinner at Gennaro, an Italian restaurant he’d discovered in the Grassmarket, when he spotted Arthur Pendragon through the window. Arthur was crossing over from the printer’s opposite. He was not, however, alone.

Merlin gulped his red wine convulsively, staring at the petite, curvy woman with the smooth skin and curly hair who had her hand on Arthur’s arm. She smiled up at Arthur, who just grimaced and jammed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Merlin had never seen him so casually dressed. The white t-shirt he wore clung to a body that no academic had the right to possess. Maybe she was just a friend? Just then Arthur laughed at something the woman said, and placed on hand in the small of her back. The couple had crossed over the last bit of road and turned to go up the pavement away from the restaurant. As they moved out of sight, Merlin felt a little guilty, but just because Arthur was taken didn’t mean he couldn’t look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks very much to Maz for the fabulous beta job. 
> 
> A reserve the right to make changes to things I realize are wrong. :)


	3. Just Another Brilliant Fool

“No, Arthur, I _don’t_ agree,” Merlin said, without rancor.

Arthur flushed and his eyed hardened. “Merlin, I’m the Director of the EU Centre, and that is what we are going to use the Commission’s bloody money for!”

“All I’m asking is that we use a bit of it for something other than your damned expert surveys. Why can’t we buy the historic economic data?

“I’ve told you, you’re the only one who’ll use it, and the biannual yearly expert surveys are used by two researchers and three postgraduate students.”  
“If you’d ever had a look at anything that happened before the 1950s you would know this data’s important. It might even speak to _your own work_ , you bloody minded clotpole,” Emrys said, frustration written on his face.

A vein pulsed in Arthur’s forehead. “What did you say? Do you know I’ve written seven books and more articles that I can count on European economics? Don’t you remember who you’re talking to?”

“Yeah, just another brilliant fool who can’t take a bit of criticism.”

“And you’re just another know-it-all who can’t see beyond his own specialty,” Arthur raged.

“You’re one to talk! You are exactly the man I thought you were when you dismissed all my ideas at LSE. Puffed up with pride and self-importance. You’re being a prat, too, after you were so nice in June when I visited. You are a _total arse_.”

Arthur was stunned and sat back in his chair, while Merlin stormed out of his office. He stood, and looked out of the window, watching students brave the crossing below.

Arthur knew he was being unfair. The data really would be useful to more than just Merlin, but Arthur found dealing with his new colleague very difficult. He sort of seized up and said ridiculous things, because he was pretty sure Merlin was gay but unavailable, and it was killing him. Every time he looked at those long, slim fingers, he couldn’t help but imagine what the rest of him looked like. Every time he saw at that dark hair, he couldn’t help wondering what it would look like when it was tousled and fresh from bed. Every time Merlin said something brilliant, Arthur wished they were chatting over breakfast. And every time he looked at Merlin’s ears, he wanted to use them as _handles_.

He wiped a hand across his eyes and faced the truth. He was being really unfair, making decisions based on trying to keep his attraction at bay, rather than basing them on professional judgments. “Freya!” he called.

“Could you get a quote on the Emrys request, please,” he said, when she entered the room. “If it’s not more than £5000 we can do it,” he added.

She smiled. Clearly she liked Merlin. “Will do, boss,” she said. She hesitated. “He’s a nice bloke, Arthur, you should give him a chance.

“Yeah, well, he’s got his public lecture next week. I’ll keep an open mind.”

***

Merlin stormed back into his departmental office and slammed the door. Arthur got under his skin in a way that no one he’d ever worked with had. He sat down at his desk, which was piled high with lecture notes and essays waiting to be marked. He knew he should be working on his public lecture, part of his commitment to the EU Centre, but he had things to do for the History department that simply couldn’t wait. He’d be working on the bloody lecture all weekend. Damn the man for being so gorgeous. And bloody _taken._

Merlin fortunately didn’t see Arthur again until just before his lecture the following Tuesday. The 5:30pm time was designed to allow members of the public, staff, and students to attend. It meant that Merlin arrived at the Centre just after 5pm, and was ushered into Arthur’s office.

“Coffee?” Arthur asked.

“Tea, please,” Merlin answered, sitting down. He felt a bit wrong footed, since he half expected Arthur to be righteously angry about being called an arse the week before.

“Professor Emrys,” Arthur began, passing Merlin a disposable cup filled with hot, fragrant liquid. “I’d like to take this opportunity to inform you that we are going to go forward with the purchase of the economic databases you requested last month.”

Merlin felt stunned. “Really? After I called you an arse last week?”

“Well, you were right.” Arthur felt a blush coming on and turned away to look at the darkened skies. “Anyway, you were right about the data.”

“I can’t believe you’re admitting you were wrong!”

“I didn’t say that,” Arthur said. “I said you were right.”

Merlin grinned and stood. “Well, anyway, we’ll have the data,” he said. “I need to get my PowerPoint up. Thanks for the tea,” he added, waving the cup a bit in the air.

“Yes, well. Shall we go down to the lecture theatre, then?” he asked, standing.

***

Merlin’s talk on currency crises in the 19th century was _brilliant_ , Arthur reflected, behind the wheel of his car afterwards. During the lecture, the germ of an idea had taken root. Perhaps… well, perhaps Merlin wouldn’t be averse to a _professional_ relationship. Arthur could see at least two excellent prospects for working together. He pulled into the garage of his mews house in Cumberland Street Lane, and without going into the house he went around to his local. The Cumberland Bar, a proper old pub, did nice food. As a bachelor who didn’t really like to cook for one, he probably ate there a couple of times a week.

Doodling on a napkin whilst he lingered over a second pint, Arthur sketched out a book outline. Looking at comparative economic crises might really bring important insight to his work, and he could see how interesting working with Merlin might be.

Arthur sighed. It would take a miracle to convince Merlin, keep his personal attraction at bay, and manage not to be a complete pillock whilst they wrote the damned book.

***

Merlin picked up the extension in his office. “Hullo?” he said, somewhat distracted.

“Merlin? It’s Arthur Pendragon.”

Merlin was startled, since it was the first time Arthur’d rung. “Oh, er. Yes. Is this about the datasets?”

“Not… not precisely,” Arthur said. “I wonder whether you might like to meet me for a coffee. Or a pint.”

Merlin didn’t say anything. What was this about? What could Pendragon want?

Arthur continued. “I’d like to talk to you about a research idea I’ve had,” he’d added when Merlin hadn’t said anything.

Merlin still felt confused, but he realised that he had to say something and so, he blurted “Um, sure. Today?”

“Yes, if we could. Somewhere off campus, maybe?”

“I live in the Grassmarket.”

“I know. I live in the New Town but we could meet at the Last Drop? It’s near you,” he added.

“I know it. How about 7?”

“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

Merlin put the phone down and stared at it like it was a snake or a spider. He didn’t understand what was going on. Although the whole thing was strictly professional, it felt somehow like a date.

He spent most of the day distracted, wondering what Arthur’s big idea was, wondering why he felt like a schoolgirl, wondering whether Arthur Pendragon was going to act like a human being or Professor Lord Pratface. Given Merlin’s previous experiences, it was very much a toss-up.

***

One of the great things about being the Director of the Centre and not really answerable to anyone but Charlie was that Arthur could leave early if he needed to. Having a business meeting that evening was the excuse he gave Freya, but the real reason was that Arthur was totally unable to concentrate. Printing out his book outline, he left the office and drove home. Inside his bright little house, he hung his keys on the hook next to the door, went up the stairs to his master bathroom, and turned on the shower. Stepping inside, he found himself thinking of Merlin’s eyes, his wide mouth, and those ears. He felt himself stir; he reasoned that releasing some tension would keep the evening professional and friendly. He reached down and, an embarrassingly short time later, he came with a groan. He hadn’t even bothered thinking of anyone but Merlin.

After his shower, he stepped into jeans and pulled a red jumper over his head, completing his look with a Paul Smith blazer and his Ferregamo loafers. He put on his watch – a Rolex given to him by his father when he’d completed his doctoral degree – and glanced at the clock in the stairs as he went down. It was only 5:30; he poured himself a glass of wine, called ahead to book a taxi for quarter past six, and checked his phone for messages. Once the taxi arrived, he pulled on his long black coat – in November, evening were dark and cold.

 

Traffic was terrible. Arthur checked his watch again and again, watching the minutes tick by. Finally, they arrived in the Grassmarket with only 10 minutes to spare. His usual table was taken, but he found one tucked in a corner. He folded his overcoat over the back of the third chair and waited for Merlin

 

Merlin arrived, wearing a blue jumper that looked like the twin of Arthur’s. Arthur’d felt his ears go red and his cheeks heat when he saw the wide smile and blue eyes, and he was only able to answer the question Merlin posed by dint of years of practice at brazening it out.  Arthur was very glad of the dim lighting.

“I’ll buy the first round,” Emrys had said. “What will you have?”

“Pint of Aspall,” Arthur admitted. He may as well drink what he liked, if they were going to work together.

Merlin grinned. “Two coming up, then,” he said as he turned to the bar.

When he returned with two tall glasses of cider, he folded himself into the chair opposite Arthur. Merlin’s knees brushed against Arthur’s as he sat, and Arthur would have sworn Merlin’s ears went a bit red.

“So,” he began.

“Er, yes. Well, Merlin,” Arthur said, “I’d like to propose a partnership of sorts. I have an idea for a book that sketches the history of a series of currency crises, and compares them to the current Euro crisis,” he said.

“Great idea,” Merlin said. He was enthusiastic about both the premise and the prospect of working together, and Arthur showed him the rough outline. They huddled over the paper, both writing on the sheet. Their fingers brushed, and Arthur felt himself relaxing into the conversation. He and Merlin really could work together, he knew, because Merlin was intelligent enough to give Arthur challenge and _just_ bloody minded enough to stand up to him when he was being an arse. They ordered food – it seemed Merlin shared Arthur’s love of pub offerings – and continued talking well into the second pint. After they sat down with their third, Arthur was talking with his hands, the way he always did when he lectured, and he bumped Merlin’s too-full pint.

It was a miracle that he didn’t ruin the work they’d done, he thought. Somehow the liquid had splashed back toward him, rather than over onto the outline. Merlin had jerked and the pub’s lights had flashed in his eyes, turning them gold. At least, it must have been a reflection of the light when Merlin had looked up at the glass so quickly. Slightly too drunk and too relieved to think on it further, Arthur flashed a grin at Merlin.

The meeting had gone so well that the conversation shifted to more personal matters. Merlin told him about Dr. Kilgarrah, and Arthur told him about his work with Marty Lipsett among others back at Berkeley. They talked about their friends, and Merlin told him all about his Mum and Da. Arthur talked about losing his Mum at an early age, about his Father’s refusal to remarry, and about his sister, who had always been a bit too _knowing_ for anyone’s good.

Merlin waited with Arthur at the taxi rank, and awkwardly offered him a handshake as he left. Arthur stiffened as he took the proffered hand, and Merlin’s forehead crinkled up in confusion. Arthur recalled the Hot Spaniard, wondering where he might be and whether he lived with Merlin, whether Merlin was going home to him now, whilst Arthur was going home to an empty and rather too large mews house. Arthur knew he was being an arse, so he forced himself to smile. “I’ll email you all the documents once I’ve had Freya type it all up,” he said, referring to the notes that had magically escaped despoiling by cider.

***

The honeymoon didn’t last. They clashed over which crises to include, over which methods to use, over which sources to employ, and over what conclusions to draw. Arthur found that his attraction found an outlet in frustrated disagreement with Merlin on nearly every suggestion the man made. Merlin was driving him crazy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Maz!!


	4. Best Mates?

It was late on Friday afternoon in January, and Merlin was waiting at the train station. Lance’s train was right on time. Merlin was, as always, happy to see his friend. A successful actor in the West End, Lance was up in Edinburgh to meet with some local theatre people about putting on a series of one act plays during Festival. Merlin had spent Christmas with Lance in London, but knowing Lance would be in town for a couple of weeks felt like a holiday to Merlin. He had plenty of work to do during the days but had more or less cleared his schedule to be able to spend the weekends and evenings with his best mate.

The first place they went was the Castle.

Edinburgh Castle was a monumental and impressive fortress. The somber, solid place was nearly deserted. Though the sun was shining, it was very cold, and standing at the top of the castle in the wind was not for the faint of heart or the unseasonably dressed. The Castle occupied all of Castle Rock. The position of the fortress, commanding an incredible view of the city and the valley below, was easily defensible. Merlin could really see why the early occupants of the area would occupy the site.

“This is really an amazing sight,” Lance said, looking down over the city from in front of Mons Meg. Though Merlin knew the huge cannon wouldn’t fire, he preferred to stand to one side. Looking down the barrel of that gun was still a bit intimidating.

“Yeah, it really is,” Merlin agreed.

“So, you really like it here, then?” Lance asked, changing the subject. “You’re happy? Meeting people?”

Merlin shrugged. “I love the University, and really it is one of the best in the world. I couldn’t ask for a better position. Kilgarrah seems to approve, anyway.”

“But, you know. What about friends?”

Merlin thought of Arthur. “I’m spending quite a bit of time with Arthur Pendragon, working on the book,” he hedged.

“But…” Lance prodded.

They turned and walked back into the Castle, to get out of the wind. Merlin took his time to answer. “He’s… I wouldn’t call him a mate,” he finally said.

“But you spend loads of time together and he’s only a few years older than you are,” he said.

“Sometimes I think we’re firmly in friendly territory, and then he sort of… freezes up,” Merlin said. “It’s really strange, to tell you the truth. I don’t know whether it’s okay to ring him to get a pint unless I have the book for an excuse. And he’s driving me round the twist with that, by the way. Fights me on every damned inclusion, as if he knows anything about pre-1900s currency crises. I like debating, but not everything has to be challenged.”

It was Lance’s turn to shrug. “Don’t know anything about that. You don’t think he’s…” he trailed off.

“What?”

“Maybe a little homophobic, I mean. Does he know you’re gay?”

“We’ve never talked about it, to be honest. Can you imagine that conversation?” Merlin put on his poshest public school accent. “There  was a debt crisis in France in the second half of the 18th century, and by the way I like cock.”

Lance laughed, as Merlin had intended. “Well, if he doesn’t know it can’t be that. Maybe he’s just a stilted intellectual. No social skills.”

“When he lets himself relax, he’s a perfectly nice guy, and I really enjoy his conversation, except when he’s being a berk about one of the crises I want to include,” Merlin said. He decided to go all in, since it was Lance. “He’s really fit.”

“Is he, now?” Lance asked suggestively.

Merlin blushed. “Yes, he is. And he’s straight and his girlfriend looks just lovely. I’ve seen them a couple of times going into a pub or restaurant together near the flat. He lives in the New Town so she must live around there.”

Lance put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “We need to go out while I’m here. Any good clubs where you can pull?”

Merlin made a face. “Please. They’re nearly all filled with students. I can’t take that chance.”  
Lance grinned. “Maybe you can’t, but I sure can,” he said.

Merlin laughed.

***

Arthur, as a major contributor to the Grassmarket Theatre, claimed his favourite box for opening night of all Gwen’s productions. Tonight’s show was a classic of Scottish drama, Joe Corrie’s _In Time O’ Strife_ , but he’d seen any number of works by unknown authors, some of them more successful than others, alongside touring musicals from down in London and J.M. Barrie revivals. The Grassmarket Theatre specialised in variety.

He was alone in the box, but knew Gwen would probably slip in once the lights went down.

He felt her presence more than saw; he was already engrossed in the story unfolding before him. A play about making the most out of defeat, it was both profoundly Scottish and intensely personal for Arthur. He was, after all, making the most out of his friendship with Merlin, and if he wasn’t quite able to tamper down his attraction at all times, would anyone really blame him? Arthur thought he probably shouldn’t be quite so ready to debate every last point, but he really enjoyed talking to Merlin and arguing with him was almost as good as sex.

At least, he kept telling himself that. The arguments left him wanting to kiss Merlin’s mouth shut, and if he was honest with himself he spent far too much time alone, naked, thinking of Merlin’s ears and his mouth. The mouth Merlin never seemed to shut. Arthur had fantasies of occupying that mouth with something other than arguments.

When intermission came round, Gwen was back with two glasses of white wine and an ice cream for Arthur, who had a weakness for sweets.

“Good, isn’t it?” she said.

“It’s fantastic. I see why you’ve been so busy the last week or two,” he said.

“Thanks. The actors are amazing in this and the director is really talented,” she said, sharing the acclaim as she always did.

“You chose it though, and I expect you did all the costumes as usual,” he said. “It’s really good. I’ve never heard of this playwright before.

“He was a miner before he wrote this, in the 1920s. This was his way out of the mines.”

“Did he make it?” Arthur asked.

“Yes, he did. He was called the most talented Scottish poet and playwright since Burns,” she said. “How’s the book coming along?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Good, actually. I’ve spent quite a lot of time with Emrys and we’re writing almost as fast as I can alone,” he added. It often took more work to produce a book or article with a co-author than singly, but Merlin worked as fast and as accurately as Arthur, and they provided each other with almost instant feedback. “The proposal was picked up by Routledge, by the way. They have a European Economy book series that they might want this one in. We’ll have to send in the manuscript in April,” he said.

“That’s great news! Have you told Merlin?”

“Of course. He’s listed first on the author list, so it was he who told me,” he said.

Her eyebrows rose. “Have you ever been listed second?”

He grinned. “We went alphabetical. It’s only fair,” he said.

She laughed. “Okay then. How’s the … other thing?”

She was referring to his attraction. “Still killing me. I love talking to him. He’s as good a person and academic as I know. Kind to the students, smart. Everyone likes him.”

“Does he help little old ladies across the street, too?” Gwen asked with a crooked smile.

“As a matter of fact…” Arthur said, and Gwen punched his arm.

“Drink your wine, Pendragon,” she said. “And get over him. Unless he’s broken up with the boyfriend, in which case you should clearly make out over your dusty economics books,” she said, leaving the box as the lights went down.

***

Lance was tired. In only a week and a half, he’d been to at least a dozen meetings at different venues in Edinburgh, in between pub nights with Merlin and seeing all the tourist hotspots. Only one of the venues of them seemed the least interested in his works, but at he had been given a spare ticket to the opening night of a Scottish play (not _the Scottish play_ ) at a theatre near Merlin’s. He’d been sorry to abandon his friend, who’d waved him off and given him every indication that he was going to spend the better part of the evening marking essays.

The play had been excellent. It was very different from the kind of thing he usually did himself, but as the house lights came up he found himself energized again. He was even more determined to get his own one-act, one-man plays shown somewhere – if not in Edinburgh during the Festival, then _somewhere_. He slipped out into the cold night air, and decided that he’d wonder around to the stage door, if he could find it, and talk to the actors.

The first people out the door were some of the actors in smaller parts, and all appreciated his heartfelt appreciation. One said, “Aren’t you the bloke who played Danny Zuko in _Grease_ at the Piccadilly?”

Lance was, and he said so. “Four years running,” he affirmed. “Done now, of course. But this play was really fantastic. I’m really interested in doing some drama.”

Several of the actors dragged him back inside to chat a while. He stood there smiling, meeting many of the actors as they went out into the night. As the crowd thinned, it was like one of those moments you see in a film – the people parted, like the Red Sea before Moses, and his eyes met those of a petite, curvy woman across the room. Her eyes were kind, he decided, and nudged the actor he’d been talking with. “Who is she?”

“That’s the boss, Gwen Pritchard,” he answered.

“Director?”

“Executive and Creative Director,” he was told.

Lance was surprised. She appeared young, but clearly she was the most important person at the Grassmarket Theatre. He went over to introduce himself.

“Lance DuLac,” he said, extending a hand.

“Gwen Pritchard,” she answered. When she took his hand, he felt tingles race up his arm. The others in the room receded; he didn’t know how long he stood there. It could have been fifteen seconds or fifteen minutes, but he was unwilling to let go of her hand.

“Could I… would it be too soon to ask you to come for a drink?” he said.

She smiled. “I recognize you, of course,” she said. “Care to step into the stage bar?”

The employees were just finishing the final cleaning, and looked annoyed at the intrusion until they saw it was Gwen. “We’re just leaving, Ms. Pritchard,” the supervisor said.

She waved them away. Lance realised he hadn’t let go of her hand. He felt stunned, tongue-tied, wrong-footed. She pulled away, pouring a glass of wine for herself and raising an eyebrow to him, asking without words whether he’d like one.

“Please,” he said.

By the time they left the theatre, several hours later, Lance wondered if he’d ever be able to let her go.

***

“Merlin’s boyfriend was at the theatre the other night,” Arthur told Gwen the following Monday. He hadn’t seen her all weekend; he assumed the run of the show was filling her time.

“Really? Was he with Merlin?” she asked. She seemed distracted.

“I didn’t see him. I haven’t seen him all weekend,” he said.

“I have to tell you something, Wart,” she said, eyes dancing. “I’ve met someone.”

He banged his head on the table in front of him. It was lucky they’d both consumed half of their drinks, or he’d have spilled cider all over himself.

“He’s called Lance, and he’s an actor. He’s based in London.”

“An out of work _thespian_?” Arthur said with derision. “Where’d you meet him?”

“He’s a very successful West End actor, thank you,” she said, a little miffed. “I met him at the theatre Thursday night. Where did you go, by the way? You could’ve met him, too. Anyway some of the actors recognized him and let him in the stage door. We talked for hours, and we spent the weekend together. He went back to London on the train this morning,” she said.

“I don’t mean to be jealous, but _I’m jealous,_ ”he said.

“How many Merlins do you suppose live in Edinburgh?” she said, rather abruptly, Arthur thought, since he thought they were talking about her new boyfriend.

“What?” he said, confused.

“Well, how many? More than one?”

“It’s not exactly a common name,” he said. “I doubt there’s more than half a dozen in the whole UK.”

“Then I met him this morning,” she said. She was grinning.

Arthur blushed. “I know his ears are a bit big,” he started. “Wait, where did you meet him?”

“At the train station,” she said. “I was seeing Lance off – he’s going to be back in two weeks, he said, and he’s thinking of moving up here – but anyway, as I was saying, his mate Merlin came to see him off.”

Arthur still didn’t understand why Gwen looked so smug. “So?”

“So, his _mate_. Merlin. Not his _boyfriend_.”

She pulled out her iPhone and pulled up a photo. She handed the mobile to Arthur, who felt dumbstruck.

“That’s Hot Spaniard,” he said. “I mean, that’s his boyfriend,” he clarified.

“I’m afraid not, Wart. That’s my boyfriend, and your _hot single coauthor._ ”

“We’re still back to him not being gay, or not being interested,” he said, slumping back on the seat.

“Doubtful!” she said, clearly triumphant. “Lance says he’s definitely, 100% gay, and, by the way, he told me three days ago that his mate up here has a crush on his straight coauthor. That _has to be you_. Merlin thinks you’re straight!”

Arthur was stunned into speechlessness. Even if Merlin’s supposed crush wasn’t true, Merlin was single and apparently played for his team. He got up and headed to the bar. “I’m going to need a whisky.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Heretical Vision for the beta.


	5. Professor Lord Pratface rides again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry about the huge delay in publishing chapter five. I ran into a bit of a road block with this, and then I spent two weeks in West Africa, a month or so in Germany, Italy, and France, and two more weeks in the UK, and then it was crazy trying to get caught up at work. But I promise the last chapter - with porny payoff - will happen soon.

Merlin’s mobile rang as he was closing his office door. He knew it was Lance by the custom ringtone. Merlin liked gadgets and had the latest iPhone. He fumbled in his pocket for it and answered the call.

“Hey mate,” he said to Lance. Have you got your train yet?

“Pulled out of King’s Cross an hour or so ago, and I’ll be at yours by midnight, ” Lance said.

“Sounds good. Still have the key? I may be asleep by then. I’ve got an early seminar in the morning.”

“Yeah, sure, I have it.” Lance paused a moment. “Listen, I’ve just talked to Gwen,” he said.

“So what’s new about that? You’ve been on the line with her every time I’ve phoned you for the last three and a half weeks.”

“But this is about you,” he said. “I know you were shocked when you saw her before, since you thought she was Arthur’s girlfriend.” Lance laughed.

Merlin blushed. “I apologized for that,” he protested. “It was an honest mistake.”

“Merlin, you rang and let me have it like I’d broken up Arthur’s happy home as soon as she left you on the platform.”

“Yes, but I’d seen them together!”

“Yeah, I know.” Lance laughed again. “Anyway, after we cleared up that Gwen hasn’t really mentioned Arthur, but she’s been grilling me about you ever since,” he added.

“What? Why does she care about me?”

“I asked her today. She’s been dancing around it for at least the last week and she finally asked me straight out whether you were seeing anyone.”

Merlin blushed and was glad he was alone in his office. “Really? Why on earth…”

Lance broke in. “Asked her. I didn’t think she fancied you, but there’s only so much a man can take, when his girlfriend asks about his best mate.”

 “Well?”

“Well, you know she’s Arthur’s closest friend, right? Known him since he was a little boy.”

“Yeah?”

“Arthur’s gay. She finally admitted today that he’s attracted to you.”

“Are we still in school? Arthur has never shown one sign of fancying me at all. But his best mate tells mine who tells me that Arthur likes me? What’s next, I ask you to ask Gwen to ask him if he’ll have dinner with me?” Merlin paced around his office, all nerves.

“Gwen tried to make me swear I wouldn’t tell you, but then she admitted she told Arthur you fancy him, so I said all was fair, and you had to know.”

“Oh, God, Lance! You told her I… You told her that Arthur…” Merlin ran his hand through his hair.

“She wanted to know why you cared so much about Arthur’s love life and I… well, I told her. Jesus, Merlin, you both fancy the pants off each other, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is I’ve got to work with him and I can’t imagine how this is going to work out. I told you he’s a prat!”

“Well, then, just shag him and get it out of your system.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to finish writing a book with him.”

“I thought you were nearly done?”

“We have a draft, but it needs polish. We’re meeting tomorrow night to split up the chapters.”

“I still say you should offer to meet at his place and see what develops,” Lance said.

“I have to go,” Merlin said. “I have a student stopping in to pick up an essay, and she’s due any time.”

“Right then. See you tonight, or in the morning. I’m having breakfast with Gwen at 8.”

They rang off, and Merlin put down his mobile. He didn’t know what to think. Arthur was not only _not_ dating Gwen, which he’d known for almost a month, but now Lance said that Arthur fancied him. That couldn’t be possible. It was _March_ , and Arthur’d never shown the least interest. Arthur wanted him? It couldn’t be. Could it? He didn’t know what to think anymore, but he was glad he didn’t have a meeting with Arthur that evening.

***

Arthur was at loose ends, which was an unusual state for him. He really should be working on the book edits, since Routledge wanted them in two weeks, but Merlin had said he couldn’t meet that evening and Arthur didn’t know which chapters to work on. In the end, he pushed back from the desk in his home office and went downstairs to the lounge. He turned on the telly, flipping over to BBC3 to watch Graham Norton’s Comic Relief special. Restless, he went into the kitchen and stood with the fridge open for a long minute, and found nothing to his liking. A half an hour later he found himself at the Cumberland bar, mobile in hard, playing a trivia game and trying to keep his mind of Merlin. A bearded man slipped into the chair across from him, and Arthur looked up. It was Gwaine, an old friend.

“Princess!” Gwaine said. “How have you been?”

Arthur grinned. Gwaine, who he’d met at the Cumberland, was a friend-with-occasional-benefits. “I’m well. Yourself?”

Gwaine shrugged. “You know how it is, mate, Mithy’s chucked me over.” Mithian was Gwaine’s on-again, off-again girlfriend.

“Still can’t keep it in your pants, then?”

“Never heard you complaining, did I?” Gwaine said. “You know I don’t cheat when we’re together, it’s just she breaks it off and…”

“What was it this time?”

“She met someone else, actually. Someone she likes better, I reckon.” Gwaine grinned. “It was two months ago. I just haven’t seen you.”

Arthur fidgeted. He knew exactly how long it had been since he’d made it to the Cumberland. He was wrapped up in the book and spending most evenings with Merlin, who was still being infuriating and irresistible by turns. He had met Merlin in cafes in the old town, the Last Drop, and places in between. “I’ve been working on a book,” he finally said.

“Sounds like you could use a bit of fun, then,” Gwaine said, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

“Thanks, but…” Arthur trailed off, trying to find a reason that wasn’t ‘I’m totally in lust and maybe a little in love with my coauthor’, but quite unable to do so.

Gwaine grinned. “You’ve got someone, I see.”

Arthur blushed. “It’s not like that.”

“You want it to be, though, trust me, mate. Why else would you turn this down?” he said, gesturing at himself.

Arthur shook his head. Gwaine really was incorrigible.

***

“Where are we meeting tonight?” Merlin asked Arthur, when he rang him the following afternoon. “The Last Drop is doing that promotion, so it will be packed,” he added, before Arthur answered.

“We could meet at my local, if you don’t mind making the trek?”

“Not at all,” Merlin said. “Where do you live?”

“Cumberland Street Lane,” Arthur said. “The Cumberland Bar is just around the corner.”

***

“So, how do you want to break up the chapter edits? I’ll do evens, and you do odds?” Merlin asked, putting Arthur’s Stowford Press on the table in front of him.

“I was thinking I’d take one, three through five, nine, and ten,” Arthur countered. He picked up his pint and took a long pull. Merlin was wearing a new blue wool coat – at least, he had been, since he’d pulled it off as he sat down – and a soft grey cashmere sweater.

“Then you’d be doing all the theory and I’d just be setting out the crisis. You’d get the introduction _and_ the conclusion, too.”

Arthur just looked at him. “Well, yes,” he said, slightly wrong footed. “The whole thing was my idea,” he said, and realised immediately that he’d put his foot in it.

Merlin’s eyes caught the light again, going over gold, and he looked furious, but he didn’t speak. He took another drink.

“I’m sorry, that was a shit thing to say,” Arthur said. He could barely look Merlin in the eyes. “I’ll do one and ten, and whichever in between you don’t want,” he offered.

Merlin drew in a breath. “Professor Lord Pratface it is,” he said.

Arthur looked startled. “What?”

“You know,” Merlin mused, sitting back in his chair. “I never know with you whether it’ll be Arthur or Professor Lord Pratface I’m working with on any given evening. What the hell is your problem, mate?”

Arthur carefully set his empty pint on the table. “I think perhaps we should continue this conversation at my house. I would prefer not to strangle you in public.”

Merlin swallowed the last of his pint – they’d both swallowed their cider rather quickly, but it hadn’t done anything to quench either of their tempers. He stood, shrugging into his coat, and said, “Yes, let’s go.” He was halfway to the door when Arthur, scrambling after him, caught up.

“You don’t even know where the bloody house is, Merlin,” he said, pushing past him to exit first. He stomped all the way to the house, cold air finally dampening his temper.

He fumbled with the keys, aware of Merlin’s eyes on the back of his neck. Hanging his coat on the rack, refusing to look behind him, he went into the kitchen and jerked open the door to his wine cellar. He pulled out a bottle of white wine, not noticing what it even was, and opened it, pouring two glasses without thought.

“White okay?” he said to Merlin.

Merlin looked a bit startled. “Er, yes, thanks?” he said, making it into a question.

Arthur sighed and put a hand through his hair. “I’ll take evens, if you take odds,” he said.

“Fine, although this would have been a lot easier if you’d just said you wanted the evens at the pub,” Merlin said. “Why do you have to fight me on everything?” he asked, frustration laced through every word.

Arthur didn’t say anything for a moment. But then he seemed to snap. “Because if I don’t fight you on the book, I won’t be able to fight this,” he said. He met Merlin’s eyes, carefully placed his glass on the countertop, and advanced toward his coauthor, intent on a kiss. Merlin’s eyes flashed gold – no mistaking this time – that light came from _inside Merlin’s eyes_ , because he hadn’t moved. The light was behind Merlin.

“Shit!” Arthur said, stopping. “You’ve got _magic_?”

Merlin seemed almost as startled as Arthur. “You know about magic?” he said, forgetting for a minute that magic wasn’t supposed to exist.

“Of course! My mum was magic,” Arthur said. “So is my sister, come to that. I just got the brains.”

Merlin’s eyes flashed again, and he put his glass back on the counter. He took a step toward Arthur, who didn’t retreat. “What does my magic have to do with you being an enormous clotpole all the time?”

“Nothing. Not your _magic_ ,” Arthur took a step toward Merlin, and now they were almost touching. He had to look up a little to meet Merlin’s eyes, and he shivered. “You.”

Merlin’s eyes didn’t go gold, but they did go wide. “Wha-?” he began, but Arthur was kissing him.

 

***

Oh, dear god, Arthur was _kissing him_. Gwen and Lance were right, and oh my god, Arthur’s hands were sliding down his sides and slipping around his back, and Merlin was opening his mouth and slipping his tongue inside Arthur’s mouth and Arthur was groaning, and Merlin’s knees were going all wobbly and he needed to sit down.

“Do you think,” he said, pulling back a little, “that we could take this to the lounge?”

Arthur grinned. “Through here.”

Arthur didn’t let go as he led him into the sitting room, and pulled him onto the small buttery yellow leather couch.

But Arthur didn’t kiss him again. They stared at each other. “I - ” Arthur began, but he couldn’t seem to find words.

Merlin seemed to have an awful lot of words jumbling through his head, but none would come out of his mouth. He wished he’d brought his wine in with him; at least he’d have something to do. He fumbled his hand out of Arthur’s, rubbed his palms on his knees, and dropped his gaze.

“I thought Gwen was your girlfriend, you know,” he said, surprising himself with his admission. “I used to see you around the Grassmarket.”

“I thought Lance was your boyfriend. I saw you the day you moved in. I didn’t think… I didn’t think I was your type.”  
Merlin looked up at this. “I didn’t see you until I’d lived in Edinburgh for several weeks,” he said.

Arthur had the grace to blush. “I was in the bar across the way.”

“You don’t drink there, though.”

“I was hoping to run into you,” he said. “But then Hot Spaniard showed up - ” Merlin laughed, “ – and I knew I didn’t have a chance in hell of competing with that.”

“You’re an idiot,” Merlin said.

Arthur dropped his head to his hands. “I know. Gwen’s told me often enough to stop jumping to conclusions, because it gets me in to these messes all the time.”

“But why do you go all hot and cold?”

Arthur gestured to himself. “English upper class. Stiff upper lip.”

“So you act like a posh git when you - ”

“When I can’t get a handle on myself otherwise,” Arthur finished.

Merlin sat back, slightly stunned. “You really like me.”

“Bit of an understatement. As long as we’re being honest, I rather wanted you at UKEA.”

“As far back as that?”

“And I hoped last summer that maybe we… maybe we could be more than colleagues. More than a one-off, even.”

Merlin grinned. “Don’t worry. I don’t put out on a first date,” he said.


	6. The Porny Payoff

Merlin felt slightly off-balance and didn’t want to sleep with a colleague, especially one with whom he worked so well, when it could still go very badly. When they took their edits to email rather than meeting in person, Merlin rather thought that Arthur had the same fears.

****

Arthur somehow thought that things would be different after their grand confessions and all the snogging. He was wrong.

He was supposed to be chairing a meeting of the EU studies group to decide on their fall lecture series keynote speaker. But what he was doing instead was gazing at the side of Merlin’s head while he talked; Arthur was pretty sure he hadn’t heard a word of it and when everyone turned to him for his opinion he felt himself blush.

“That could work,” he said. Non-committal and totally inadequate, he knew, but there you had it. He’d been thinking about Merlin’s cheekbones and lips. Merlin met his eyes and the tips of those same ears went a bit red. “Er, I mean. Merlin, would you find out what it would cost us to do that?” he said. “Email it to the committee, perhaps?”

“Sure, Arthur,” Merlin said. “I’ll phone Kilgarrah and ask whether he’d be up for it.

Merlin must have known he wasn’t paying attention, Arthur decided. “Well, it couldn’t cost much – I mean, he’s already in the UK.” 

“Right,” Merlin said. “But he’s in his seventies and I can’t be sure he’ll want to come up from London. He’d have to fly, certainly.”

“Business class, if it’s available,” Arthur commented. “Well, then, if there’s no further nominations I’ll ask that the two proposals be priced out and emailed to all of us. If it’s not too expensive I’d love to have both Kilgarrah and Marks over, if they’d accept. Kilgarrah for the Euro and Marks for the Constitution.”

Arthur spent a few moments speaking to several colleagues. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Merlin loitering over his notebook, slowly gathering his things. Merlin casts a furtive look his direction, but when Arthur fails to wrap up his chit chat Merlin gets up and kits the door. Arthur feels like an ass, but hates that he got so distracted in the meeting.

The emails were worse, though.

Arthur, the first read. I’ve finished the edits on the first few chapters. How are yours going? Obviously we are working to a deadline. I’ve also phoned old Kilgarrah; he hasn’t returned my message but I’ll get you the figures as soon as he does. –Best, Merlin

Arthur pulled at his hair, frustrated with the impersonal tone and irritated with himself for failing in his own professionalism when Merlin obviously had no problem with maintaining his focus. 

Merlin, his response went, I’ve got a couple of the middle chapters done but not the theory yet. It may have escaped your notice but I’ve got a tonne of work at the center right now. I’ve also got Gwen’s fundraiser on top of all these edits; as you clearly haven’t got anything else on, maybe you could get those figures to me a bit more quickly so I can at least get one thing off my list this week. –Arthur

He was embarrassed as soon as he sent it, and banged his head on the table at the Last Drop when he met Gwen for a drink later. “Why am I always such a fekking prat, Gwen?” he moaned. 

“Stunted emotionally, you are. It’s all that ridiculous upper class nonsense your father puts on,” she said. “You need to apologize, Wart.”

Arthur nodded. The pub’s door opened, admitting a cool breeze, and Merlin followed it in. He met Arthur’s eyes.

Merlin’s gaze went a bit stony. Arthur groaned under his breath and blushed. Gwen turned around, and saw Merlin. She grinned. “Merlin! Join us,” she called. “I’ll just get you a pint.”

“Don’t you dare,” Arthur hissed.

“Don’t bollocks this up, Wart,” she said, collecting her handbag. “I’m going to take as long as I can to get the drinks, and that means you have about five minutes to patch this nonsense up and work out how to get your leg over so you will stop being such an asshole.”

“So,” Merlin said, toying with the zip on his jacket. “Do you want me to sit down, or are you going to be a clotpole again,” he said. 

“I deserve that,” Arthur answered, gesturing to the chair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been a jerk in that email.”

“Or at the meeting,” Merlin insisted.

“Or at the meeting,” Arthur agreed.

“You weren’t even listening to me,” Merlin said. “Do you think I’m stupid, or something? That what I have to say is totally unimportant?”

Arthur went hot, and felt all the blood rush to his face. “No. I was daydreaming about your lips and lost track of what you were saying. I’m sorry I wasn’t listening.”

Merlin looked a little confused. “You don’t think I’m stupid?”  
Arthur snorted. “Clearly not. You’re a damned genius, you know. I never coauthor. You’re the exception.”

“You needed me for the project,” Merlin said.

“True. But I could’ve had a post grad do all the research and gotten along without you. The book wouldn’t be as good, though, without all your insight. You need to stop thinking I don’t respect your brain.”

Arthur paused, but decided he’d go for broke. Why not? He’d already embarrassed himself enough. “I wouldn’t like you so much if you weren’t so intelligent.”

Merlin grinned then. “I just want your body,” he said. “Let’s…”

“Here are the drinks! Gwen said from a few feet away, much louder than was strictly necessary.

Merlin blushed. Arthur grinned. “Ta, Gwen,” he said. 

They chatted for about 10 minutes, until Gwen finished her half and stood. “I’m going home to call Lance,” she said. “No, Arthur, don’t bother coming with. It’s still light out and Merlin is here. You two should stay. Or, you know. Go somewhere else,” she said significantly. 

They watched her leave. Merlin finished his pint. He met Arthur’s eyes. “Come to mine,” he said, voice half an octave lower than usual and dripping with sex. 

Arthur drained his glass and stood. “Thought you’d never ask,” he said.

****

Arthur looked around, trying to take everything in at once. Merlin’s flat was homey, full of scarred wooden furniture and old books. He had a little collection of dragon figurines, and two sonic screwdrivers on a shelf with a little blue police box. Arthur smiled as Merlin entered the room with two cups of tea.

“I want to be sober for this,” he said, gesturing with the tea cups to the space between them.

Arthur sipped his tea, focused on Merlin’s mouth, which blew waves into the top of his. Arthur thought of those lips wrapped around his cock, and took a large drink, which burned all the way down. 

Merlin’s eyes crinkled up as if he knew exactly what Arthur was thinking. 

And then he proved he did. “Forget the tea,” he said, discarding his cup. “Bedroom. Now.”

Arthur was never sure, later, where he’d put his tea cup. He knew he’d found his feet, somehow, and Merlin had found his own, and they’d kissed and touched all the way to Merlin’s bedroom. The bed was high, and Merlin crowded Arthur against it. 

“Get your kit off,” Merlin growled.

“Can’t, can’t stop touching you,” Arthur said, back hitting the mattress and Merlin hitting his front.

Merlin’s eyes went gold, their clothes disappeared, and suddenly their skin was finally against skin. “Handy, that,” Arthur said, smiling again. 

Merlin’s hands were everywhere. He sucked a bruise into Arthur’s neck, and Arthur cried out, bucking against Merlin. Their cocks slid together, and Merlin hissed against Arthur’s skin. He nipped at Arthur’s nipple and slid lower, nipping against Arthur’s stomach and following the line of golden hair lower and lower. “Please,” Arthur whispered, and Merlin smiled against him. Arthur felt his cock jump against Merlin’s lips, and Merlin inhaled, sucking Arthur deep and making Arthur arch off the bed.

“Oh God, Merlin,” Arthur all but yelled. “Yes, god, finally, so good.”

Merlin pulled off. “Your cock is gorgeous,” he whispered. It was as golden as the rest of Arthur, the head pulsing red, fully exposed. Merlin reached down with one hand, and Arthur knew he was pulling on himself. 

“No,” he said. “Mine, I want it,” he said. Merlin looked up, surprised. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Arthur ground out. Merlin stilled and said nothing. “I mean, if you don’t, I mean, it’s okay,” Arthur said.

Merlin laughed. “No, I thought you’d want to fuck me.”

“I do, I will. If you want.”

“No, Pendragon,” Merlin growled. “You’re mine tonight. You can fuck me later.”

Arthur’s cock jumped again, bumping Merlin’s chin and making them laugh. Merlin took his length deep, and slid his hand up to graze Arthur’s hole. Arthur spread his legs. “Lube,” he bit out.

Lube flew from Merlin’s bedside table to his hand, and he flipped the cap open with his thumb. He poured it all over his hand and slid one finger, two fingers, deep in Arthur with one motion. 

“Merlin!” Arthur called out.

“You alright?” Merlin asked.

“God, yes,” Arthur said. Merlin swallowed Arthur’s length again, and worked at Arthur’s hole, stretching him before adding a third finger. Arthur moaning incoherently, begging for release. 

“I’m going to fuck you so good, baby,” Merlin said, raising his head and catching the condom that flew from the bedside table with his hand. He ripped it open even as Arthur laughed. “Get on with it, then, Jesus.”

“Just Merlin,” he said. “Shift up.”

Arthur shimmied further up the bed, bracing his feet and spreading his knees wide. He shifted his hips, canting them so Merlin could find his entrance more easily. Merlin settled between his legs, and held Arthur’s wrists up above his head. He traced Arthur’s lips with his tongue. 

Arthur opened his mouth, panting, and tried to kiss Merlin. Merlin leaned away. “So eager,” he said, and then resumed his slow exploration of Arthur’s mouth. “Your mouth is a miracle,” he breathed, and plunged his tongue inside while he reached down and guided himself into Arthur’s hot entrance.

One of them groaned, or both of them. Minutes passed, or hours; Merlin hitting Arthur’s prostate with increasingly erratic strokes. “Want you to come like this,” he said, and slid a hand between them to pull at Arthur’s cock with rough, lube-slicked stokes.

Arthur was full, so full, and he could feel his orgasm building even as Merlin’s hand faltered. He came with Merlin’s name on his lips, and Merlin caught his mouth and fucked into him harder until he felt Merlin’s cock swell with his own release. Merlin cried out, and stilled.

Their heartbeats began to slow, even as their breaths came in great gasps. 

“Oh my god,” Arthur said. “You’re amazing.”

Merlin smiled. “No, you.”

“I knew it would be good but I had no idea.”

Merlin kissed him, a languid, closed mouth promise.

****

Prologue

 

****  
“This year’s best book award goes to Professor Emrys and Lord Pendragon’s Historic Currency Crises and the Modern Euro: Insights from Economic History.” Professor Kilgarrah said. “Though it has been out only a few months, it is clear from this book that this new partnership promises great things in understanding and furthering the European experiment.

Merlin and Arthur stood together and made their way to the podium. Hand in hand, they exchanged a glance. Arthur grinned, and Merlin took the microphone and held up the small triangular award. “Thanks for this, professor. I would like to thank my co-author, Arthur Pendragon,” he said, holding up their clasped hands, “and everyone here at the Institute. I hope everyone enjoys the wine and hors d’oeuvres. Thanks for coming.”

They mingled, then, and found each other a bit later. “I’d have given them a bit more than that,” Arthur said. “You barely said 10 words!”

“Just because you’re a lecturing birk doesn’t mean I am,” Merlin said, softening his words with a smile. “Drink your cider.”

Arthur complied. He’d found his better half, and he knew Merlin felt the same way. They really were two sides of the same coin. “I love you,” he said. 

“I know,” Merlin replied. “I love you, too, Professor Lord Pratface.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Heretical Vision and This Maz for the great beta and Brit-pick. All remaining errors are mine alone, but the credit goes to them for making sure my higher ed references and Edinburgh references are as accurate as possible.
> 
> Title refers to a James Earl Jones quote: "Love is just a word until someone comes along and gives it meaning."


End file.
